


Pumpkin Boy

by OTPshipper98



Series: Drarry translations/traducciones [16]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Angst, Bickering, Child Abuse, Fluff, Halloween, Halloween Costumes, Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-Hogwarts, Pumpkins, Trick or Treating, and pirates, childhood crushes, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 21:41:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPshipper98/pseuds/OTPshipper98
Summary: It's Halloween night, and the line that separates Harry's world from the one he truly belongs in dissipates when he meets a peculiar, white-blond boy.





	Pumpkin Boy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Paoak](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paoak/gifts).
  * Translation into Español available: [Pumpkin Boy (Español)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186617) by [OTPshipper98](https://archiveofourown.org/users/OTPshipper98/pseuds/OTPshipper98)
  * Translation into Русский available: [Pumpkin Boy](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27297328) by [Trixxt33r](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Trixxt33r/pseuds/Trixxt33r)

> This fic exists because, a year ago, my silly girlfriend asked me to write a story where Draco and Harry met before Hogwarts and went trick or treating together. I tried to write it back then, but didn't finish it in time for Halloween and gave up. Cue me finding it in my draft folder months later, having no idea what this even was, and _losing it_ because I loved the beginning but then it STOPPED and I, of all people, had to finish it. The life of the writer is a tough one, guys. But alas, here's the fic! Finished before Halloween, against all odds!
> 
> Thank you so much to [TheLightFury](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLightFury/pseuds/TheLightFury) for alphaing, betaing, and cheerleading! And also to [MarchnoGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarchnoGirl) for screaming about this fic with me and motivating me to finish it 💗
> 
> Please check the tags before reading. I chose not to use any of the archive warnings, but there are some depictions and mentions of abuse from the Dursleys scattered in the fic. Additionally, although this is pre-Drarry, they develop a crush on one another and they are 10.
> 
> Enjoy! 🎃

“Come oooon! I promise I’ll be back by eight. They won’t even notice I left! They’re too busy entertaining their boring guests, they’ll just assume I went to bed!”

The elf cringed at his tone. “Dobby is still not thinking this is a good idea, Master Draco.”

“I don’t care what you think!” he snapped. “This is my last chance to do this before I have to spend every Halloween at Hogwarts, and you are _not _going to ruin this for me. That’s an order.”

Pride filled his chest as Dobby bowed at his feet and stretched out his arm. He’d done it! He’d convinced Dobby! Oh, Merlin, he was really doing this. He was going to Muggle London. All of his friends had said they’d do it this year, and he was determined to have the best story to tell when he saw them all again.

“Where to?” the elf muttered, shaking. “The city centre?”

“No. That’s where all my friends will be, and I want my story to be a surprise. Take me to…” He looked around, trying to come up with any Muggle place he knew the name of. He shrugged. “To the last Muggle place my father ordered you to Apparate to.”

A loud crack, a pull at the pit of his stomach, and they were gone.

He looked around and immediately wrinkled his nose. “Where are we? This place looks ghastly.” And scary, but he didn’t say that out loud.

“In P-Privet Drive, Master Draco.” Dobby let go of his hand. “This is where—”

“I don’t care. Where are the houses and the Muggle kids?”

“They are being this way, Master Draco.”

***

“Jade, wait for me!”

“Uuuhh, I’m gonna kill you!”

“Aaahhh! Noooo!!!”

Harry snickered. That had to be the silliest ghost costume he had seen all evening, and yet those two idiots were running like their life depended on it. They were so gullible—ghosts didn’t even exist!

He brought another one of the chocolates he’d nicked from Dudley’s bag to his mouth. Five more to go. He’d have to finish them before the Dursleys got back home, or he knew he’d get in trouble.

Another group of kids approached 4 Privet Drive, and he spied on them from between the flowers of Aunt Petunia’s fuchsia bush. Ah, he knew those girls—they were the popular group from year 4. He wondered if they’d be as popular the next day of school if their classmates were to realise the resemblance between their group costume and the stinky, over-boiled shrimps Mrs Figg cooked on special occasions.

Pity he was the only kid in town who’d had to suffer Mrs Figg’s poor cooking skills.

Another kid walked past. Harry almost missed him, because he was wearing what looked like a really expensive costume of Death—his cloak was a deep shade of black and covered his whole body, and he was carrying some sort of… bag, over his shoulder. It was so big, it looked as though he was about to carry a corpse with it. He would have made quite a realistic impression, had it not been for the pointy hat that rose from his head, which kind of made him look like a gigantic walking cone of ice cream.

But none of that really mattered, because this kid was _new_. Harry had never seen him before, and he didn't seem to know where he was going—he kept staring at 5 Privet Drive, as though wondering if the house would bite him if he approached it.

This was his chance of making a friend—one that Dudley couldn't possibly have threatened into hating him yet.

Quickly, he crawled towards the window and climbed into the living room. He almost turned on the lights, but thought better of it and resorted to squinting as he searched of something that could resemble a costume. The old wardrobe in which aunt Petunia kept her old scarves caught his eye, but he didn't dare use one of those. It did remind him, though, of the ragged scarf he’d nicked from the back of Dudley’s wardrobe to wipe the blood of a scratch on his knee the previous spring. He’d hidden it under his bed, and he was pretty sure it was still there.

Two minutes later, Harry looked himself in the mirror and saw a half-decent impersonation of a pirate. His glasses were a bit crooked, but at least they held the scarf in place so that it covered his eye. His clothes were baggy and a bit stinky, but for once he didn’t care—weren’t pirates stinky after all?

He was about to run out again when he remembered—he had to cover his scar! He couldn't risk the wind moving his fringe—he was sure that kid would think him a freak if he saw it. That was what the Dursleys always called him.

Did pirates wear hats? _Well_, Harry shrugged, grabbing one of Dudley's old ones, _now they do._

He stepped outside, frantically searching for that pointy hat. The kid was nowhere to be seen, he realised, his heart jumping.

He advanced a few more steps, but hesitated. Walking all the way to the road was not a good idea; if the Dursleys somehow found out he’d escaped Mrs Figg’s creepy old guest room, he’d be doomed.

Harry still couldn’t see that kid. Feeling disappointed, he grabbed a stick from the front yard and hit the grass. Ugh, he shouldn’t have left his stupid bush.

“What are you supposed to be?”

Harry jumped around. It was the pointy boy! The adjective really did suit him, Harry realised—his chin was extremely sharp, and his eyebrow was raised in an almost perfect triangle as he stared at Harry with a skeptical sneer.

“Er… I’m a pirate. See? This is my sword.” He raised the stick in the air.

“Really?” The boy had a very posh accent, too. “Because you look like you just escaped Azkaban prison, honestly.”

“Azka-what?”

“Of course, you wouldn’t know what that is.” His sneer deepened. “I don’t know why I thought talking to a Muggle would be a good idea.”

“What did you just call me?” Gosh, the kid was weird. And a bit mean. But Harry kind of liked him already—it wasn’t hard to see that he was trying to hide the fact that he was lost, and that made his anger feel endearing rather than annoying.

“Nothing.”

Harry didn’t really know what to say to that. A moment passed and the kid shuffled a bit.

“What are _you_ dressed up as?” Harry asked.

The kid huffed. “You should check your glasses if you have to ask! I’m a wizard, of course!”

“That’s not how wizards look,” he pointed out.

“_Excuse me_?!”

The boy’s offended expression was so harmless and exaggerated that it actually made Harry snicker. “It’s not my fault you look like Death!”

“I most certainly do _not _look like Death!”

Man, the kid was proud. Harry sighed. He really should change subjects if he wanted to have any chance at becoming friends with him.

He pulled a chocolate from his pocket and handed it to him. “Here. What’s your name?”

The kid eyed him suspiciously. “Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. Yours?”

“That’s such an uncommon name.” Draco still hadn’t accepted the chocolate, but Harry kept his arm stretched out. “I’m Harry.”

Draco pulled a face, but finally took the chocolate. “I don’t like that name.”

“Why not?” Harry frowned. “What's wrong with it?”

“Nothing, I just don’t like it.” Draco inspected the chocolate thoroughly, as though he’d never seen a pumpkin wrapping before. “I think I’ll just call you something else.”

“What?!”

He brought the chocolate to his mouth and hummed. “From now on, I’ll call you Pumpkin Boy.”

“You’re so weird,” Harry said. When Draco raised his chin defiantly, Harry smirked. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, Pointy Boy. I like weird.”

“You’re such an entitled git!”

“Well you’re a pointy brat,” he shot back.

Draco clenched his fists. “Are you going to come trick or treating with me or what?”

Harry’s heart jumped at that. Him? Trick or treating? Oh, god, he’d get in so much trouble if the Dursleys found out. But he _really_ wanted to befriend Draco. _Who wanted to go trick or treating with him!_

“Sure,” he said casually. “Let’s go.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes. Harry felt so good he wanted to jump on the spot, and he ate another chocolate to celebrate—it wasn’t every day that he made a friend, after all.

They passed a house with Halloween decorations and Draco halted. “Shouldn’t we, you know… knock on a door at some point? I want to fill this bag tonight.”

“Oh, er—sure, yeah, we should.” He eyed the house. The Dursleys knew that family. “Why don’t you, uh, go knock over there? I’ll wait… there.” He pointed at a nearby bush.

“What? You’re not coming with me?”

Harry shook his head. “I’d love to, but I… can’t.” Ugh, that was hard to say. He wanted to trick or treat like a normal kid _so_ badly. Frustration soaring through him, he stepped back. “It’s okay, I’ll be waiting right there.”

“But why—”

Harry was already running.

While he waited for Draco to come back, Harry hugged his knees. He was almost crying, and he hated it, but he was just so _frustrated_. What if Draco hated him for being weird? What if he came across other kids on the street and decided Harry wasn’t worth his time? Oh, god. What if he came across _Dudley_?

He didn’t know how many minutes had passed when he finally raised his head again, clenching his fists and thinking, _Well, if he finds other kids and leaves me, then that’s his loss, not mine! I can make other friends. I don’t need Draco. I don’t need anyone—_

“Are you in there, Pumpkin Boy?”

Harry almost jumped to his feet. “I am!”

“Oh, good. You’re so tiny I almost took you for a gnome for a second there.” Harry didn’t care about the insult—Draco was back! “What was that all about anyway? Why couldn’t you come with me?”

“Er—it’s nothing. Hey, did you manage to fill your bag a bit?”

“Not really. That stupid Muggle didn’t want to give me more than two chocolate bars. But don’t change subj—”

“What's a Muggle?” Harry quickly cut in. “You said that word before.”

“Who cares? The thing is—”

“Tell me!”

“_You_ tell me why you can’t trick or treat! I asked you first!”

“Well I asked you second!” A bunch of kids and parents walked past, and Harry hid his face behind his hands. “Can we discuss this somewhere else?” he hissed.

“No! I want to know what’s going on!”

Harry stepped back, cringing at the shrill tone. He couldn’t be noticed. He couldn’t let anyone see him. He’d be in so much trouble if his aunt and uncle found out. Uncle Vernon would be _so mad_, and he always screamed so much when he was mad—

A soft hand slipped into his. “Where are you going?” Draco sounded scared. “You can’t leave me!”

“I—” Harry was finding it really hard to breathe. Draco was _holding his hand_. He’d never held hands before. “I can’t be seen outside. Come with me, I promise I’ll explain.”

He practically ran all the way back to Mrs Figg’s. Draco held on to his hand with a tight grip, which calmed him somewhat—he wasn’t alone. He was with a friend. Everything would be alright. No one had seen him yet, after all.

When they made it to the wooden fence that surrounded Mrs Figg’s back garden, Harry gestured at Draco to stay quiet, letting go of his hand. “I know a shortcut,” he said, business-like, and expertly crawled under the bush at the edge of the fence.

“You want me to—?!”

“_Shhhh. _Yes. Come on.”

Once inside the garden, Harry helped Draco out of the tiny hole on the wooden boards. He’d forgotten not every kid his age could fit through the same spaces as he could.

He didn’t even know if Draco was his age.

“My robes are all full of _mud_,” Draco whined, dropping his bag on the floor and brushing his knees and arms with desperate hands. “My parents will murder me if they find out I sneaked out!”

Harry sucked in a breath. “Really?!”

Draco looked up. “No,” he said, his brow furrowing as he took in Harry’s expression. “Of course not. It’s just a saying.”

“Yeah.” _He probably thinks I'm weird now_. “I was just joking, Pointy Boy.”

Draco didn’t seem convinced by that, but he was clearly more preoccupied about the state of his costume than anything else. Harry watched as he crouched to examine his clothes, feeling restless. He was mostly safe in that garden, but there was still a risk. If Mrs Figg decided to take her eyes off the TV and look out the window…

“So you sneaked out tonight too,” Harry said. “How did you get here? I've never seen you before.”

“Feet. I happen to have two of them.” Giving up on his robes, Draco took off his pointy hat and carded his fingers through his hair, arranging it carefully. It had a few soft waves to it, Harry realised. “If this is where you live, how come no one’s supposed to see you?”

Harry swallowed. He wished he didn’t have to explain—wished he could, for once, just be a normal kid. But he’d promised. “My relatives would find out. I’m meant to stay in Mrs Figg’s house here while they trick or treat with my cousin, and I’m not allowed out.”

“They took your cousin but not you?” Draco grimaced. “Why? Are you grounded?”

“I’m…” Harry hesitated. How much could he tell Draco? He’d never talked about it. He searched for any traces of rejection in Draco's expression, but he just seemed… curious. And didn't friends tell the truth, after all? “I'm… sort of always grounded.”

Draco’s eyebrows shot up. “Wow. Why?”

“Dunno.” Harry shrugged, not wanting to explain. Not wanting to tell Draco that there was something wrong with him, something _shameful _about him. “They just don’t want me to ruin their reputation, I guess.”

“Wow,” Draco repeated. “Why would you do that?”

“Aren’t you asking too many questions?”

“Your answers aren’t exactly satisfactory.”

Jesus, the boy was stubborn. “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. I’ll grant you one more question, and that’s it. Choose wisely.”

“Just one?!” Draco’s whiny tone almost made Harry smile, and he bit his lip. “Fine. Are you gonna be able to trick or treat with me?”

“Oh. Er… I really want to, but I also really can’t be seen, so…”

“And if we cover your face? Even more, I mean.”

Harry scrunched his nose. “That could work, I guess, if we had something to—Where are you going?”

Draco was crawling back under the bushes, bag of sweets forgotten. “Wait here, I’ll be back!”

Harry gestured wildly, but Draco was already gone. Resigned, he crouched under the living room window. The night was starting to get cold, and so he covered his knees with Draco’s gigantic bag and waited.

When Draco reappeared from under the bush, it was with a huge pumpkin in his hands. He brushed his robes again, grumbling, then walked over to Harry—sat down beside him.

“Try this on.”

“Wh—on my _head_?”

“No, stupid, on your foot.”

Harry glared at him. Then he took the pumpkin from his lap, examining the wide opening at its bottom—the angry eyes and sharp toothed-mouth that had been carved onto it. “Did you just steal this from someone else’s garden?”

“It’s not like they’re gonna need it in the morning, is it? Come on, put it on. I want to—”

“Fill in your bag, I know.” Harry brought it to his head, realised that he wasn’t gonna make it through the hole, and started scratching at the sides of it. “I should probably go inside and grab one for myself.”

“Wouldn’t you get caught?” Draco asked, clearly not amused by the idea of being left alone. Harry bit back a smile. It was a nice feeling, being around someone who didn’t want him to disappear from sight. Even if said someone was a bit of a snobbish git. He was also fun and charming.

“You know, I never thought of that. I guess I’ll have to, and I know this may sound mind-blowing… be quiet.” He poked his tongue out when Draco flipped two fingers at him. “Don’t worry, Pointy Boy, I’ll be fine. Not all of us need to announce ourselves everywhere we go.” He handed Draco the pumpkin. “Keep scratching the sides of this, will you? I’ll be right back.”

It was just a few minutes later, plastic bag in hand and proud smile in place at having completed his mission successfully, that Harry made a very particular discovery.

“This _reeks_!” he hissed, trying not to breathe through his nose as he pushed his glasses up the tiny space between his throat and the pumpkin hole to put them back on.

“It’s a good thing you left your hat on, then.” Draco took Harry’s hand in his and pulled at him. “Come on, let’s go.”

And so they went, hand in hand up to the bushes, and then side by side as they approached the first house, Harry’s attention shifting from the strong smell of the pumpkin to the thrill of what he was about to do. Him, trick or treating! Getting his own sweets! With a _friend_. He practically bounced up the front stairs—bounced for real as Draco rang the doorbell.

While they waited for the door to open, Draco turned to him, said, “You _really _are a pumpkin boy now!”

Since Draco couldn’t see his face, Harry let his smile widen until it hurt. “And you look as pointy as always,” he said, reaching up and bouncing the palm of his hand on the tip of Draco’s hat.

The family didn’t recognise him. Neither did the next, or the next—they just complimented him on his scary looks, filling his bag with bars, gummy snakes, edible eyes and spiders. Harry was so ecstatic he gathered the courage to take Draco’s hand in his again as they made their way down the next street, full of running kids, exasperated parents and moving, shiny decorations. Draco didn’t comment, didn’t pull away when Harry bumped their knuckles and then wrapped his fingers around Draco’s sweaty palm.

Two small kids ran across the road just a few steps ahead of them. One of them, plastic wand in hand, was laughing and squealing, saying _Abracadabra_! over and over as he waved the wand at the other kid.

Draco gasped and squeezed Harry’s hand so tightly it hurt, coming to a halt. Harry turned to look at him just as Draco took a step back, shaking his head.

“What?” Harry asked.

“Why would they do that?”

“What, run across the street?”

Draco looked at him, frowning. He was visibly shaken, his hand, still gripping Harry’s, sweaty and hot. “Yelling those words just like that! Waving a wand around so carelessly! They’re not even old enough to—!”

“Wait—you’re scared of magic?”

Draco’s expression scrunched even further, as though the mere suggestion was deeply offensive. “I’m not _scared _of it! I just”—he raised his chin, still eyeing the kids as they disappeared from view—“I just think it should be used with caution, like anyone in their right mind would.”

“So you _believe in magic_!” Harry said, unbelieving. “What are you, _five_?”

“I’m ten and four months, I’ll have you know! It’s not my fault you Mugg—” He pursed his lips. Shook his head. “It’s not my fault you’re so unaware of the world around you.”

_That word again_, Harry thought, but didn’t comment on it. He’d find out eventually. “So we _are _the same age. I’d been wondering.”

“You’re ten too?!” They’d started walking again, and it was only then that Draco let go of his hand. “Merlin. And I thought I was small for my age! I thought you were, like, eight and three quarters _at most_.”

Harry snorted. “_Merlin_? Are you sure you’re from this century?”

“Are you sure you’re not eight?” Draco retorted, and from his tone Harry knew he was scowling.

“It wouldn’t surprise me if my Aunt and Uncle had lied to me about that, now that you mention it. But really—where on Earth are you from and what silly language do you speak there?”

“A kingdom that exists beyond your mortal realm.”

“Har, har.” Harry poked his side as they rang another doorbell. “Tell meeee!”

“No.”

“I told you about my family!”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!”

“It _still_ doesn’t matter, okay?!”

Harry couldn’t bring himself to smile when the man that opened the door complimented his costume and he gave them both a few chocolate bars. And then, when the door closed and Draco turned around and walked back to the road without waiting for Harry, Harry clenched his fists, so mad his chest suddenly felt constricted.

“You just don’t want to be my friend, is that it?” he screamed as he caught up to Draco. “Just say it to my face then! I don’t care!”

Draco faced him, and Harry just wanted to take the stinky pumpkin off so Draco could see the rage in his eyes. It was a good thing he couldn’t, though—there were a few tears itching there too, and he’d be damned if he let Draco see those.

“Do you think I’m happy about this?” Draco waved his arms in frustration. “That I can’t tell you about me the same way you did? I’m not, okay?! Can’t we just forget about all this and keep trick-or-treating?”

“N-No! At least—I don’t know, at least tell me why you can’t tell me. You say you’d _like _to tell me, so forget about your stupid bag for a second and at least give me an explanation!”

Draco’s frown deepened. “Look, I—Have you ever been in on a secret that wasn’t yours to share?”

“No,” Harry said boldly. “No one trusts me with their secrets, and even if they did, no one would want to hear what I had to share. No one would believe me if I tried,” he added, remembering the many, many times the Dursleys had called him a liar.

“You… don’t have any other friends?”

“No.” Harry blinked really hard, but a tear rolled down his cheek. It quickly reached his neck, and he pretended to be scratching so he could brush it off.

“Wow.” Draco eyed his bag, eyed Harry. He was biting his lip. Finally, his shoulders sagged. “You know what? Filling in an entire bag of sweets isn’t _nearly _as cool as being someone’s first friend.” Harry huffed a laugh, half disbelieving, half choked up. “I’m serious! And you know why? Where I come from, you _never _betray your first friends. That’s why I still hang out with Crabbe and Goyle, my idiot best friends. They were my first friends ever. So if I turn into _your _first friend, that means I will always have you as my friend.”

Harry didn’t know if Draco was serious or if he was making it all up on the spot to make him feel better, but it was definitely working. “Your Muggle friend?”

Draco’s smile faltered for a moment before it widened impossibly. “Yes, my Muggle friend.” He extended a hand. “I think we’ve got ourselves enough sweets to go share them somewhere nice, don’t you think? And I’ll tell you everything about me that I am allowed to share.”

Harry took Draco’s hand in his—a gesture that came naturally now, but that still made his heart quicken a bit. And how could it not? Draco was his _friend_! “Follow me,” he said, tugging at Draco as he walked. “I’ll show you my favourite park!”

***

“You can’t be serious!”

“I swear to God!” Harry cackled, almost spitting out a gummy bear. “Dudley always does that! If he can’t get his way even after he’s threatened to do something, he _does it_. No matter what he said he’d do. This one time he made Aunt Petunia buy him a new TV because Uncle Vernon wouldn’t get him a pet horse. Who even wants a _horse_? The only good thing about the whole situation was Dudley’s face when his telly broke in half. Or rather, Uncle Vernon’s when he saw. Man, that was a day.”

Draco shook his head, and Harry leaned back against the wall they’d hid behind, just around the corner of the park. It was empty, and they’d played on the swings for a few minutes, but then Harry had decided it was just safer to stay out of sight. Just in case.

“I once found Crabbe sucking on bacon like it was a lollipop after he lost all his baby teeth in the span of a few weeks,” Draco said, chuckling at the memory. “He thought no one was looking.”

“Pfft.” Harry unwrapped another chocolate bar. “At eight, Dudley used to hide all the sweets his parents got him under his pillow so they would buy him more, and more. And then, one morning, we all woke up to this demonic _scream_. I swear I thought someone was dying. But when I ran upstairs to see what was happening, this poor mouse was racing toward the door with a sweet in his mouth! Uncle Vernon tried to tell Dudley that what he’d seen was really the tooth fairy, but then Aunt Petunia appeared on the hallway and started shrieking hysterically, and Dudley started _wailing_. So Uncle Vernon tried to get me to catch the mouse and get it out of the house so they’d stop screaming.”

“Did you do it?”

“Naaah,” Harry said. “I kept it in my cupboard all day and put it in Dudley’s school bag the following morning. It was worth getting little to no sleep that night.”

Draco snorted inelegantly. “You really are something else, Pumpkin Boy,” he said, poking the pumpkin Harry had discarded on the floor. “He deserved it, honestly. They all did! I can’t believe they make you sleep in a cupboard like a—like a bloody house elf!”

“Don’t tell me—there are _house elves _too in this kingdom you come from, aren’t there? What are they, like, elves that you keep at home? Elves that _haunt _your homes? Do you even _live _in houses, or is it like, a prairie where you all inhabit a different flower, or—?”

“Of _course _I live in a house! In a manor, if you must know!”

“Oh, that sounds cool,” said Harry. “Is your dad a lord or something?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

Harry smiled bitterly. “Pity we can’t meet again, I’d love to have a sleepover there.” Draco passed him a jelly eye, which Harry accepted. “Have you ever had a sleepover?”

“Of course! Crabbe and Goyle stay every now and then; Theo too. It’s always fun until Goyle starts snoring. I almost envy you for never having heard that abomination.”

“Eh, he can’t be worse than Uncle Vernon.” Harry swallowed. “I’d take anything over Uncle Vernon any day if I could, if I’m honest.”

Draco looked at him, but didn’t reply. Harry cursed himself, suddenly positive that he had ruined the conversation and possibly even their friendship, and was starting to wonder how to either brush it off or tell Draco to snap out of it when Draco leaned forward and pressed a soft kiss to Harry’s cheek.

Harry’s breath caught. When he turned around, dazzled, Draco had sat back against the wall and was staring into middle distance, his cheeks quickly pinking, his firsts curled as he hugged his knees.

Harry gaped at him for a moment, then sat back too, his gaze wandering to a nearby tree.

Draco had kissed him. He couldn’t recall ever having been kissed before. Not by Aunt Petunia, who always kissed Dudley goodnight before turning his night lamp off. Not by Sarah Meyers, the girl he’d drawn a smiling heart for on St Valentine’s Day in Year 1. He supposed he’d been kissed by his parents, but he couldn't remember that. He liked to think he had. He’d daydreamed about it almost every night when he’d had his bad nightmare phase at six.

But Draco had kissed him.

Heart racing, Harry turned to Draco again. He was redder than before, which was all the proof Harry needed that it wasn’t usual for friends to kiss each other on the cheek where Draco came from either.

His stomach tingled. After a moment of hesitation, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Draco’s cheek in return. His skin was surprisingly warm for how cold it was outside.

Still not looking his way, Draco leaned forward and grabbed a pumpkin chocolate from the small mountain they’d made on top of Harry’s bag—the last one of the handful he’d nicked from Dudley. He brought the chocolate to his mouth and smoothed out the orange square which had furious eyes and a serrated mouth drawn on it.

“Your world is so different from mine,” Draco told Harry, pressing the wrapper to his leg. Then he looked up to Harry, giving him a small, pretty smile that was so different from his usual scowl Harry couldn’t look away. “I’m glad I met you.”

Harry couldn’t fight it—he smiled back, radiant, and slipped his hand into Draco’s once more with confidence.

“Me too.”

Draco clutched his hand as he tucked the pumpkin wrapper in his robes pocket with the other, and Harry added, “Pumpkin chocolates aren’t common in my world either, though. My Aunt Marge bought them abroad for Dudley.”

“I bet she didn’t bring any for you,” Draco muttered, thumb clumsily stroking Harry’s knuckle.

“Oh, she brought me something alright.” Harry pretended to scramble in his pocket with his free hand. “This here,” he said, pulling out nothing but two fingers flipped in a rude gesture.

Draco _tsk_’d. “They’re all so stupid!” He said, leaning forward. “Here, have another handful of my—”

“POTTER!”

Harry’s world froze.

“Shit,” he murmured. “Shit, shit, shit, we need to go.” He shoved all his sweets in his bag and started doing the same with Draco’s, looking up to see why Draco wasn’t doing the same, why he wasn’t freaking out too—

Draco was gaping at him.

“I KNOW YOU’RE HERE SOMEWHERE, YOU SNEAKY LITTLE RAT! WAIT UNTIL I FIND YOU!”

“Draco, come on, we need to go!” Harry hissed, even though he didn’t know where to go, didn’t know how much worse it would make it. But right now he didn’t care about Uncle Vernon, or his screams, or his bangs on the cupboard door, almost as loud as Harry’s empty stomach. He couldn’t leave like this. Not yet. Not without asking Draco one last time to meet again in the future.

He wasn’t ready to say goodbye yet.

When Draco didn’t react, Harry grabbed his arm and pulled him to his feet, then crouched once again to take a peek behind the wall. Uncle Vernon was looking for him in the small playhouse under the slide. Harry turned around, looking for places to go, but his mind was completely blank.

“He said _Potter_.”

Draco was staring into nowhere, gaze unfocused.

“Yeah,” Harry said, still frantically trying to make sense of the world around them. “Yeah, they never call me by my given name.”

There was a house nearby they could hide behind, but the safest bet was probably the forest that surrounded the park. Not that he wanted to go in there at night, but if there was no other option…

“You’re _the _Harry Potter?”

Harry looked at Draco again, taken aback. “There’s someone famous with my name?” he asked, but Draco was already reaching forward—pulling out Harry’s hat, brushing up his fringe with the scarf still messily tied around Harry’s head.

Draco’s mouth fell open when his eyes found Harry’s lightning scar.

“What?” Harry demanded—but then a hand angrily grabbed his arm, and Draco stepped back as Uncle Vernon pulled Harry toward himself, face crimson.

“I knew you’d be here, you insubordinate, ungrateful little worm,” he spat, dragging Harry back.

“Wait! Let go of me!” Harry screamed, pulling back, trying to look at Draco from over his shoulder.

“What, so you can run away with your little—?” Uncle Vernon’s eyes fell on Draco, and he turned impossibly redder. “He… he’s… what—” he babbled, and Harry knew the explosion was imminent. Knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. And just as he’d thought, merely a moment later… “_YOU_!” Uncle Vernon pointed an accusatory finger Draco’s way, dragging Harry further away from him. “WHAT DID YOU TELL HIM?!”

Draco stumbled backwards, shaking with terror. “N-Nothing! I didn’t even—”

“STAY AWAY FROM HIM, YOU HEAR ME? YOU AND YOUR SCUM OF A BREED WILL NEVER GET TO HIM! _NEVER_!”

Harry didn’t understand. He didn’t understand what Uncle Vernon meant, didn’t understand why Draco’s frightened eyes were locked on him, why he’d recognised his name and known his scar would be there. He tried to break free, but Uncle Vernon, apparently satisfied with his threat, walked away, dragging him through the park and down the street.

Harry could only look at Draco one last time, could only watch as Draco brought his fingertips to his cheek—to where, only a moment before, Harry had kissed him.

***

Harry’s dinner that night consisted of a single gummy bear that had somehow sneaked into his pocket. His goodnight wishes, a stream of insults. Of _good for nothing, just like his father_, and _can’t even be grateful that we let him stay under this roof_, and _poor, poor old Mrs Figg, who must have been so scared_… The worst part was, perhaps, Dudley’s cruel, incredulous laughter when he heard the news that Harry had made a friend. Or maybe Aunt Petunia’s loud cries of regret at having ever taken Harry under their care at all.

Harry didn’t usually cry—didn’t usually allow himself to give them the satisfaction of knowing they’d won—but the tears rolled freely down his cheeks that night. Face buried in his pillow, ears covered in a futile attempt to drown out the Dursleys’ words, Harry cried, and cried, and didn’t stop until long after the Dursleys had gone to bed. He cried out of frustration, and of shame, and then he cried some more out of loss. And when the worst of those waves of feelings had passed, he found himself weeping some more at the thought that he’d never find out why Draco had called him _the_ Harry Potter, because Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia would never, ever let him find out.

Once the tears had finally stopped and his breathing settled, Harry was left staring at the wall, feeling empty, hoping for sleep—hoping to wake up in a world in which he’d ran into the forest with Draco, in which Draco had taken him to his kingdom, whatever that place really was. But sleep didn’t come. Eventually, Harry got out of his bed again and sneaked into the kitchen. As he engulfed a single slice of ham, then a single slice of cheese, then the smallest, tiniest bit of leftover chicken pie, Harry’s eyes fell on the notepad Aunt Petunia kept on the counter, where she always wrote down the shopping list, and an idea crossed his mind.

Maybe he couldn’t see Draco again, but he could still talk to him. In a way. He wasn’t quite sure how to send a letter, much less how to find out someone’s address, but that wasn’t important. He tore a few pages from the pad, tiptoed back to his cupboard, and grabbed the only pen he had in his school bag. Crouching down on the floor, he pulled the pages from his pocket and wrote to his friend.

**Epilogue**

_10 months later… _

Harry was making his way through the bustling train corridor, looking for a carriage to make himself comfortable, when a hand slipped into his.

He turned around to sharp, silver eyes regarding him with a not-so-indecipherable gaze—to perfectly combed white-blond hair sticking out of a pointy hat. A slight blush was spreading over Draco’s sharp cheekbones. Two boys, who Harry assumed were Crabbe and Goyle, were standing by his sides.

Draco let go of Harry’s hand, and for a moment they stared at each other, eyes locked.

All the nights he’d spent writing Draco letters that had ended up in the trash can down the street from his school, Harry had thought of the two of them as nothing but Harry and Draco. As friends who had been forced apart, but who would always, always remain the same.

So much had changed now. He wasn’t Harry to Draco anymore, but Harry Potter, and now Harry knew what that meant, too. He knew where Draco really came from; Hagrid had told him a few things about his father—had tried to dissuade him from becoming Draco’s friend.

Harry, however, had already made up his mind.

“Here.” He rummaged in his robe pocket without looking away and extended his hand to Draco. “It’s not a pumpkin chocolate, but it’s the closest thing I could find in Diagon Alley.”

He would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t racing. That he wasn’t terrified of what Draco’s rejection would do to him. Still, he kept his chin high, just like he remembered Draco constantly doing, and waited.

Draco’s eyes flew from the chocolate to Harry’s eyes, to his scar, then back to the chocolate. After a moment that felt never-ending, he took it, unwrapped it, and brought it to his mouth, a pretty, triumphant smile growing on his face.

“It’s good to see you again, Pumpkin Boy,” he said after he swallowed, beaming so brightly it ought to hurt. Harry’s own smile definitely did. “Come on, I’ll show you to our compartment.”

And, just like that, Harry found his hand wrapped in Draco’s again.

**Author's Note:**

> This is a finished story. That being said, I have a LOT of feelings about it and I know it could be continued, so I _might_ do it in the far future (and I mean... years from now). Subscribe at your own will! I would also love to hear your headcanons about what happens afterwards and why the last place Lucius had told Dobby to apparate was Privet Drive!
> 
> Check out the fanart that the lovely Artdecielle made for this fic **[here](https://artdecielle.tumblr.com/post/188613950561/commissioned-for-the-marvelous-rockmarina-for)**! 😍
> 
> Even if this is an old fic, kudos, comments and bookmarks are still incredibly appreciated ❤️


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